


A Lifetime of Firsts

by turps



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:07:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the popslash_flash community at Live Journal. Chris/Lance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lifetime of Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Ephemera for beta reading.

Lance pauses at the door. There´s a bag looped over his shoulder, cases in each hand. He grips them harder, fingers tightening around the handles as he walks outside. He squints against the sunshine and hurries to the waiting car, handing his bags over to the driver without a word.

He´s running and he doesn´t care.

Chris follows, hair wild as he shades his eyes against the sun. His feet and legs are bare, baggy plaid shorts and a hockey jersey gloriously unmatched as he walks down the steps. He hesitates, arms crossed and looking down, like there´s answers held in the gravel under his feet. Lance can´t help looking too, but there´s nothing to see, just Chris´ toes digging into the tiny stones.

I´m.’ The time for words is long past and Lance indicates the car. He opens the door, and it´s hot under his hand, but he doesn´t get inside. Doing so means it´s over; for real.

I thought we´d work this out.’ Chris says softly. He looks up then, looking for a reaction Lance can´t give. The expected words that´ll make this okay. Except it´s not, and hasn´t been for a while.

I need to go.’ Metal digs into Lance´s fingers. He folds into the car; always looking forward as he slams shut the door. They´ve been working toward this point forever, the first time there´s no _love you_ as Lance is driven away.

~*~*~*~

It´s a few glasses. I´ll do them in the morning.’ The challenge is there, barely hidden as Chris glares across the kitchen.

It´s late and Lance is exhausted, tired after a night of pretend. He´s spent hours networking, fake smile always in place, and now he wants to sleep, but they´re arguing once again. The glasses aren´t important, they never are, but the little things are effective camouflage against the big.

Anger flares and Lance turns on the faucet, water spraying up and soaking his shirt. It should be a signal for jokes, warm hands against wet skin, but that was before. Instead Chris walks away, slamming the door as he leaves the room.

Alone, Lance grabs for a glass, but it slips, shatters on the floor. He curses, carefully picking up the pieces which he places in a sharp edged pile. There´s blood on one jagged point, and he sucks his finger into his mouth, fighting the urge to stomp and scream. Anger solves nothing, though both of them rely on it.

There have been too many arguments lately. Barbed words and silences designed to hurt. They´re hiding from the truth and every petty argument; each throw-away taunt is building into something huge and unassailable.

There´s still good mixed in with that bad. Enough that they keep trying, reminding themselves that this relationship is build on love, however dimmed that may be.

One last deep breath and Lance heads upstairs. There are sorries on his lips, but the bedroom door is closed, an obvious keep-away and he hesitates, hand hovering over the handle before leaving it alone.

It´s the first time he´s slept in their spare room. It won´t be the last.

~*~*~*~

The house smells new. It's bare and echoing as Lance walks around. Each room is explored, the huge kitchen, the bedrooms and bathrooms, the lavish indoor pool. It´s a house built for laughter, parties at the built-in grill, screenings in the velvet walled theatre. Perfect for a family, but also for them. Lance loves it.

You like?’ Chris´ footsteps are light, and Lance doesn´t turn around, just stands next to the picture window as arms snake around his body. Leather cuffs press against his stomach as they look outside.

I like.’

Chris rests his chin against Lance´s shoulder. He´s quiet but Lance can tell he´s pleased, reading him easily despite the lack of words.

It seems unreal sometimes. This house, this situation and that they´re living together after three years. The house may be in Chris´ name, but it´s theirs, each brick, each fitting -- their home.

Have you picked our bedroom?’

Chris´ goatee tickles against Lance´ neck and he shivers, unable to stop the response. The living room is christened for the first time that day, Lance´s hand-prints smudged against the glass.

~*~*~*~

Chris steps out of wardrobe. Make up perfect, he waits to step on stage. Suddenly he runs back, ignoring Anthony and the shouts of _go go go_.

I fucking love you, Bass.’ A kiss against Lance´s forehead and he´s gone. Lance steps into the spotlight, dazed and blinking. That first declaration of love the first of many they´ll share.

~*~*~*~

It´s awkward at first. Darting gazes and nervous silences, but doesn´t stay like that for long. They´re embracing the cliché, hats pulled low as they duck into the movie theatre, laughing as they buy huge buckets of popcorn and ice cold soda.

Their seats are near the back. Lance places the popcorn on his lap and settles down. His leg is pressed against Chris´ and he can´t help smiling at the touch. This is beyond what he expected and he grins around his straw when Chris squeezes his hand.

Their first kiss is in the bathroom. Lance is washing his hands, stupid hat pushed back on his head. He watches Chris in the mirror, the way he keeps glancing over then looking away. Then the room is empty and suddenly Chris moves in for a kiss, a brief touch of lips. Fleeting contact and Chris is laughing, expression promising more as he darts away.


End file.
